


a perfect pe(ace)

by twilights_blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Asexuality, Consent Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilights_blue/pseuds/twilights_blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's known he was broken since he was a kid. He had, and always would have, some important piece missing. There was nothing that could fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a perfect pe(ace)

It used to be easy to ignore, when Cas still had wings. Dean would notice the look Cas slanted at him every now and then, but then Cas would flutter off somewhere else and Dean could pretend nothing had happened. Now, though, with Cas so undeniably human, shuffling around the bunker, helping with hunts, and _staying_ , well. There wasn't much of a chance of Dean getting the space he was used to.

And it didn't help that humanity made Cas touchy. He'd rest a hand on Dean's shoulder when he leaned over to point out something in the research spread across the table in the map room, or would gently nudge Dean's shoulder before requesting something. Then there were the innumerable times when their shoulders would brush as they passed each other in the hall, and how Cas would always insist to sit as close to Dean as he could when they were watching tv or researching or just reading for fun. Cas always had a weak grasp on the idea of personal space, but his actions seemed a lot more deliberate now than they did in the past. And with the not-so-subtle looks Cas threw his way every now and then (especially if Dean wandered out into the dining area for coffee while shirtless), that could only mean one thing.

Cas wanted Dean.

Luckily, Dean had wanted Cas for what felt like forever, now.

Too bad that was a whole can of worms that Dean didn't even want to _think_ about opening. Every time he considered saying something about it, or reciprocating, so many red lights went off in his head that all he could do was flinch back and decide to leave the problem for another day. Which was, honestly, the worst way to deal with it, because _another day_ never really came. And Dean could still feel that tension between them, like a rubber band stretched to the limit. Just a single push, and it would snap.

It all came to a head a few months after Cas had shown up at the bunker. They'd gotten home after dealing with a nearby rugaru case, and were celebrating with a few beers. They'd originally planned on expanding Cas's knowledge of pop culture via old movies, but they'd gotten distracted with debating the merits of time travel after the first movie.

"The point I'm getting at, I think," Dean said, gesturing with the hand he was using to hold his beer, "is that even if there are fixed things, when it comes to time travel and fate and all that shit, you still have some wriggle room. His parents got together but he still managed to make things better for him and his family."

Cas shook his head, rolling his--third? Fourth? Dean thought it was his fourth--bottle between his hands. His movements were still steady, but he was moving with a deliberate slowness that showed just how much he'd had. Without his angel mojo backing him up, Cas was a surprising lightweight. "You know that's not how it works," Cas said, frowning in Dean's direction. "You've seen it firsthand. _Twice_."

"And even then I like to think Marty's methods are a hell of a lot more believable."

Cas studied Dean for a moment before letting out a soft huff of laughter and looking away. "Your inherent optimism," Cas said, smile evident in his voice, "will never fail to amaze me."

The honesty in Cas's voice made Dean freeze, whatever easy comeback he had prepared completely forgotten. He was usually smoother than this, had spent his whole life _learning_ to be smoother than this, but this was Cas. Cas had always been--and, dammit, probably always would be--one of the rare exceptions in Dean's life. Not that Dean was complaining. He just sometimes wished it was easier to deal with on a day to day basis.

Cas looked back up at Dean, which made Dean realize he'd been sitting there with his mouth partially open for a good while now. He snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat, looking away before he finally managed to say, "Well, thanks. I guess."

"Dean."

Cas hadn't stopped looking at Dean, and when Dean looked over he could almost feel that tension growing again, that band pulling ever tighter. He licked his lips, watched Cas's eyes drop to chase the movement, and then managed a, "Yeah?"

"I would," Cas said, face and voice solemn, "very much like to kiss you right now."

And while he'd expected it, would've had to be fucking _blind_ not to see it coming sooner or later, Dean was still floored by the request. "I," he said. "Really?"

"Really." Cas's face was still serious, but that was definitely amusement in his eyes. He scooted just an inch or so closer but didn't lean in. Instead, he tilted his head the slightest bit and asked, "May I?"

"Yeah," Dean said, because while he was, personally, too damn scared to initiate anything on his own, he _wanted_ too much to push Cas away. He'd always been selfish that way. "Yeah, sure."

The way Cas's eyes lit up made it worth the internal conflict, and when he leaned in, Dean met him halfway. The kiss was chaste, easy, and settled something in Dean's chest he didn't even realize had been a nervous fluttering mess. It was perfect, a small patch of peace that managed to shut out his doubts for those few seconds, and when Cas pulled back it took all of Dean's willpower not to follow.

Blinking his eyes open, Dean found Cas watching him, eyes soft, lips curved in an easy, happy smile. He didn't wait for Dean to say anything, and instead stood, stretching as he did so.

"I think I'm tired enough to sleep," he said. He glanced back over, still smiling. "Good night, Dean."

Dean was pretty sure he answered with a suitable response, but he wasn't really paying attention. His mind was still reeling a little with what just happened, thoughts equally happy and equally fucking _terrified_. He managed to wait until Cas padded out of the room before he slumped over, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes.

"Shit," he muttered, "I am in such deep _shit_."

=

Dean’s known he was broken since he was thirteen.

He'd noticed the way kids his age swapped around skin mags, or talked about how they saw the girl next door getting undressed the other night, but Dean had never really cared. He would admit it if he thought someone looked nice, but he'd never had the urge to turn and watch someone walk by, like his dad and the friends he managed to make while being dragged across the country. Dean knew that was odd, but hey, maybe it would kick in later, in a year or so.

It never did.

By the time Dean was fifteen, he didn't think too much into it. His lack of interest didn't seem to make him too different from everyone else, and hey, he _did_ still have time. But his dad had been giving him long, calculating looks lately, especially if he'd just spent the last thirty seconds staring at some waitress' ass and then realized his son hadn't joined in. It put Dean on edge, made it feel like _he_ was the monster of the week that happened to fall in his John’s sights. He didn't say anything, though, just kept his head down and hoped that his dad's attention would get diverted elsewhere soon.

A couple hunts later, and Dean thought he was in the clear. Until they went out for breakfast after their latest hunt, and Dean noticed his dad was giving him that look again. Dean's stomach was churning, but he forced himself to eat. Maybe, if he acted like there was nothing to be nervous about, he'd get off easy.

John waited, at least, until Sam got up to use the bathroom. As soon as Sam was out of sight, John turned his attention back on Dean. "You know," he said, "there are certain things that make a man, a man."

Dean didn't respond beyond putting down his fork and straightening up. When Dean's dad started lecturing, it was better--safer--to give him his undivided attention. He wasn't looking for interjections or excuses, just attentiveness.

"And one of the key things about a man," John said, "is, well…"

He glanced over his shoulder, and when Dean leaned to the side to see what he was looking at, he caught sight of one of the younger waitresses. Dean had thought she was nice, earlier, the smile she slanted in his direction pretty. But that was it. He didn't want to stare, didn't feel like his gaze was magnetized to her. He looked away after a second, and found his dad watching him. Dean swallowed, the click of his throat sharply audible.

"You seem to be missing a part, boy," his dad said after a long, tense silence. "I don't think I have to say how I feel about that."

"No, sir," Dean said, through lips that felt numb.

"So you better find that piece, and find it fast. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." John went back to his food. "I don't want to have this conversation again."

Neither did Dean. He couldn't say that, though--couldn't bring himself to say anything, really--so he just nodded and looked down at his plate, picking at his food until Sam got back and offered a distraction from the silence.

After that day, Dean made it his mission to fit in even further than he already did. His first attempts at flirting were a stumbling mess, ultimately ending in the girl laughing and walking off and him blushing up to the roots of his hair. He kept trying, though, watching what the other kids around him did and then working off of that, smoothing out his performance until it was damned near perfect. By the time his sixteenth birthday came along, he had his pick of any of the girls he came across, and he always made sure that there was at least one bruise visible above his shirt collar when he came home. The approval on John's face when he saw those bruises almost made it worth it.

Sex was harder to get through than Dean had considered, though. He _knew_ he could get it up--he'd woken up more than once with morning wood, and had always ignored it until it went away--but actually enjoying it was another thing. It was like his mind had a disconnection from it all, and he didn't feel an ounce of pleasure from anything he tried. But he knew he had to, at the very least, try, for the sake of normalcy. And after the first couple of girls complained about his silence and lack of response, he realized he needed to learn how to fake a whole new set of behaviors. And once he had them down, well. Let's just say it was rare for him to disappoint a partner in bed.

Everything was second nature to him, now. As long as he didn't have to think about it and knew he'd never see the person again, he didn't choke, didn't stumble. When it came to people he cared about, though, he turned right back into that stumbling, awkward fifteen-year-old that was just trying to gain the approval of his father. He didn't want to lie when he cared. That was asking far too much from him. Yet he could never escape the knowledge that he was missing a piece, inherently broken and impossible to fix.

And how could Dean ever expect anyone to want a broken man?

=

Cas and Sam were already awake, and were talking quietly when Dean managed to stumble into the kitchen the next morning. He flopped into the chair next to Cas, mumbling a near-incoherent "Good morning" as he did. Cas didn't say anything, just took one look at Dean's face and stood to go into the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. Sam, who'd probably been up since before dawn, was clearly refraining from passing judgment, but his expression was enough to get Dean to glare at him. He'd be more equipped to deal with Sam's health-nut bullshittery once he got some coffee in his system.

As if he'd read his mind, Cas came back, holding his own mug and another that Dean assumed was for him. Dean made a noise he would never admit to making and made grabbed convulsively at the mug. Cas handed it over, smiling a little as Dean took his first sip. It was perfect.

"You're awesome, Cas," Dean said, with a small, content sigh. "And I mean it, this is _awesome_."

Dean heard Cas chuckle softly as he walked behind Dean. "Don't mention it," Cas said, before shifting forward and pressing a light kiss to the crown of Dean's head.

That surprised Dean a hell of a lot more than he wanted to admit, and even though he tried to rein in his reaction, he still managed to splash coffee all over his hand and the table. Muttering a curse, he grabbed a wad of napkins and started wiping it up. Cas was there a second later, using his own arsenal of napkins to keep the coffee from dripping off the table and onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," Cas said once the worst of the spill was taken care of. "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought, after last night…"

The noise Sam made at that was stuck between a gasp and a snort, and Dean chose not to acknowledge it. Instead, he glanced up at Cas and then back at the sodden napkins still scattered across the table. He could feel the back of his neck heating up as he cleared his throat. "Well," Dean said, and then stopped, stuck for words.

"You seemed to enjoy our kiss," Cas said. His brow furrowed for a moment, and then it smoothed out to an expression that was borderline panicked. "Unless you didn't actually want--"

"No!" Dean said. "God, no, last night was…"

Dean glanced at Sam, who was just sitting back and watching, his amusement clearly written across his face. Fuck it, Dean had said more embarrassing shit in front of his little brother before. Looking back up at Cas, Dean said, "Last night was really, really great."

Cas blinked. "It was?"

"Yeah. I liked it a lot." Dean winced internally. That had sounded pretty weak, even to him.

It seemed to be what Cas needed to hear, though, because his shoulders loosened. "Good," he said, relieved.

Dean thought that would be the end of that, but Cas didn't move to sit back down. Instead, he just stood there, looking vaguely hopeful, until Dean said, "Yeah?"

"Since last night was enjoyable for the both of us," Cas said, "I was hoping I could kiss you again."

Dean blinked at Cas for a second, thrown by the question. "Well, yeah," he said. "Sure."

Cas flashed a broad smile at him, but his expression quickly sobered again. "And perhaps again," he said, "in a few minutes."

Dean couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips. "Yeah."

"And an hour or so after--"

"Jeez, Cas," Dean said, laughing a little. "You don't need to ask permission every time."

Cas frowned a little. "I just want to make sure," he said.

"Well, just…" Dean huffed, way out of his comfort zone. He couldn't just leave Cas hanging, though, so he said, "I give you full permission from now on, okay?"

Cas studied Dean's face for a moment before nodding. Then, slowly, as if giving Dean the time to pull away if he wanted to, he reached out and tilted Dean's face up. As he leaned in, he said, "This is all right, then?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah," he said.

"Whenever I want?"

"Well, within reason," Dean said.

Cas laughed softly. "Of course," he said, and stayed just where he was. Frustrated, impatient because he was finally _allowed_ , dammit, Dean closed those last essential inches between them.

The kiss was the same as the last, chaste and brief, but no less sweet for it. When they pulled away, Cas returned to his breakfast, grinning like he'd won something miraculous. Dean fiddled with his mug, appetite pretty much canceled out by his nerves. He suddenly remembered that he and Cas weren't exactly _alone_ , and he looked across the table to find Sam giving him a shit-eating grin.

"Don't even start," Dean growled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam said. "I'm just happy for you two."

"Sammy--"

"Also, _finally_."

Dean mimed as if to throw his mug at Sam, who just laughed. Cas hadn't stopped smiling yet, though, and so Dean couldn't find it in him to truly be pissed at his brother, or even nervous about his entire situation. Not when Cas looked happier than he had in a long, long time.

=

Cas started taking advantage of Dean's open invitation at random times, pausing whatever he was doing in order to give Dean a light kiss before going on his merry way. It almost always took Dean off-guard, but in a good way, and he found himself unconsciously grinning for several minutes after each encounter. Dean had always loved kissing, the easy intimacy of it, how it satisfied his love for touch without adding too much pressure for more. It was only when things went a step further that he truly started to get nervous.

Like that night. They were supposed to be researching for a possible siren case, but Cas insisted on leaning against Dean the entire time, pressing absent kisses against Dean's shoulder every now and then. Cas probably wasn't trying to be distracting, but Dean was only human, and after the seventh time he lost track of the sentence he'd been reading, he told himself _fuck it_ and tossed his book down in favor of turning and giving Cas a proper kiss.

Taking the initiative startled Cas, but it didn't annoy him, if the way he leaned in almost immediately was any indication. Cas reached out and lightly gripped onto one of Dean's shirts, and Dean didn't freeze up, didn't even pause. Their kisses were lasting a lot longer than they had all day, and it was still as easy as it was earlier. Thrilled and emboldened, Dean hooked his arms loosely around Cas's neck and pulled him in closer.

The light touch of Cas's tongue against his lips a minute or so later made Dean freeze for a second. He recovered quickly enough for Cas not to notice the hitch in his movements, and he let Cas keep going, parting his lips in invitation and deepening the kiss. It was still good, still easy. Dean sighed through his nose in a mixture of relief and pleasure.

When Cas's hands slid down his chest to settle on his hips, though, Dean's reaction was a lot harder to hide. He twitched, his grip on the back of Cas's shirt tightening convulsively before he pulled away, panting and a little panicked. There was no real way to recover from the interruption, so Dean just let his hands drop to lightly circle Cas's wrists.

"Sorry," Dean muttered, looking down at the floor. He didn't want to see the disappointment and impatience he knew had to be on Cas's face. "Sorry, I just. We can keep going, if you want--"

Cas shifted his grip, turning his hands so that he could clasp Dean's wrists as well. "No," he said.

Confused, Dean gathered to courage to look up. People usually took the invitation and ran with it, not even questioning the initial hesitance. Cas was watching him, but he looked more pleased than annoyed. Still, Dean couldn't help but repeat, "No?"

Cas smiled a little, and gave Dean's wrists a gentle squeeze. "We can stop for the night," he said. "It's all right."

Before Dean could gather himself to protest, to say that he was _fine_ , dammit, Cas stood and pressed a kiss to Dean's forehead. He squeezed Dean's wrists one more time before letting go. "Good night, Dean."

And he was gone, just like that, flashing Dean a smile one more time before leaving the room. Dean slumped against the couch, guilt crashing over him in a huge wave. He growled at himself and raked a hand through his hair. Why couldn't he just keep going, act natural? Why couldn't he be fucking _normal_ about all of this, just this once?

Sighing, he pulled the nearest book closer to himself. He definitely wasn't sleeping after all of that, so he may as well do something useful.

=

There were only a handful of past relationships that Dean could think of with something close to happiness. They were the ones where he didn't have to pretend as hard, or at all, because the other person seemed to inherently understand and accept him. Cassie had been one. Jo, too, though she'd figured it out on the level of a friend and nothing more. There had been a few more, men and women both. Dean could count them all on one hand.

And then there had been Lisa. She was a game changer for him. _The_ game changer. She'd taken his hesitancy as part of the mourning process, at first, and Dean was happy to let her think that. He was just too tired to try any harder than he already was. But as the months went on, and Lisa was still the one initiating things the most, she started to put the pieces together. It was about halfway through their year together that she sat Dean down and said they had to talk about it.

Dean went in thinking he'd just evade until she gave up, but instead he found himself telling her everything, his words almost tripping over themselves in his rush to get everything out. It was like he'd just been waiting his entire life for someone to care enough to listen. He was terrified that this would scare her off, that Lisa would tell him to leave, that he was too damaged for her to handle, and yet he couldn't stop talking, the floodgates clearly broken.

He'd been staring at his hands the entire time he talked, and when he finally ran out of words, he couldn't bring himself to look up. The silence spun out for what felt like a small eternity before he saw Lisa, out of the corner of his eye, stand and leave the room. That was it, then. His shoulders slumped. He'd start packing his stuff and leave as soon as he got his energy back.

But then Lisa came back in, just a few minutes later. She moved to stand in front of Dean, and he studied her feet for a while, still refusing to look up. She then shoved a sheaf of paper into his line of vision.

"I printed this out and read it a few weeks ago," Lisa said. "It was mostly on a whim, but…"

She trailed off when Dean didn't react and sighed. Shaking the papers a little bit, she said, "Read it, okay? It'll help."

Lisa could out-stubborn Dean on his best days, so he figured it'd be easier to go along with her. He took the papers, thumbing through them almost absently. It looked like an article, its title centered neatly at the top of the first page. Dean frowned a little when he read it. "I'm not a bacteria," he muttered.

"And _you_ aren't as dumb as you like to pretend you are," Lisa said, shoving Dean's shoulder lightly. "Read it. I'll be downstairs when you're ready to talk."

So Dean read it. And, when he was done, he immediately flipped back to the first page and read it again. When he finished his third read-through, he went downstairs to Lisa. They talked for a long while, and when they were done, Dean felt like a weight had come off his chest. Things between them got even better, after that day.

It didn't permanently change Dean, really. He still had a lot of issues with himself, and still felt guilty whenever Lisa gave him a questioning look at night and all he could do was shake his head. It was nice to know that there was a label for people like him, but he was still inherently broken, in his opinion. Nothing would fix that. And after his life steered him away from Lisa, Dean came to terms with the idea that he'd most likely never find someone who understood and accepted him as completely as she did.

=

There would be nights when things were okay, and Dean let things progress past his usual comfort zone. Each time that happened, Dean rode the high of his personal victory for hours afterward--hell, when they'd managed to get their shirts off with little to no panic on his part, Dean'd been stoked for a solid _day_. But then there were the times when Dean would freeze up the moment Cas grabbed at his ass or hips, or he'd flinch away the moment he felt fingers gently working their way under his shirt. Every time that happened, Dean expected to get some sort of reprimand from Cas, or at least see disappointment in his eyes. Instead, Cas would just smile, and give Dean the space he needed, even if it meant he had to leave the room. The level of consideration Cas showed confused the hell out of Dean, and also made him unbelievably guilty. Because that patience would run out eventually, and Cas would get tired of Dean's hot-and-cold tendencies. And when that happened, it would only be a matter of time before Cas left Dean entirely.

Just thinking of that sent fear prickling up the back of Dean's neck. It had only been a couple months, but Dean couldn't imagine not having this easy affection with Cas. And if he wanted to keep this, Dean knew what he had to do.

Dean took his chance the next time they were distracting themselves from the newest batch of Men of Letters relics they had uncovered. This was damn near a routine for them at this point, Cas pressing Dean against the stacks in the research room and kissing him senseless, hidden in one of the darker corners so they would have time to recover if someone walked in on them. But Sam was out on a supply run, and Kevin was doing who knew what in his room, which was clear on the other side of the bunker, so Dean and Cas had all the time in the world. Which suited Dean just fine, since he wanted to get through what he was about to initiate before someone came along and he lost his nerve.

Too bad Cas didn't seem to be on the same page. He was keeping a safe distance away, his hands on Dean's sides the only point of contact between them. Frustrated--this would be so much easier if Cas was already pushing for it--Dean took a few more minutes to steel himself before he reached out, gripped Cas's hips, and tugged him closer. They were pressed together now, from hip to shoulder, and Dean took advantage of the closeness to slide his hands into the back pockets of Cas's jeans. Even Cas, with his loose grasp on physical cues, couldn't miss what Dean was practically shouting at him. Dean took a deep breath and readied himself for Cas to take his invitation and run with it.

Dean was not expecting Cas to still under his hands and pull away. He lifted his head until he could see Dean's face, his eyes narrowed in a faint expression of confusion. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Dean forced a laugh, even though his heart rate had doubled at the question. It wasn't like Cas _knew_ , for Christ's sake. "I'm fine," he said. Then, after a moment to make sure he'd put the right level of concern in his voice, he asked, "Am I moving too fast?"

Cas shook his head immediately. He directed his gaze down to Dean's chest, and his hands slid from his sides down to his hips. Dean was about to count this as a victory when Cas said, "I only ask because you're shaking."

Dammit, he must be shaking harder than he thought, if Cas was noticing. Still, "I thought you wanted this." Dean reached up to play with Cas's shirt collar. "Was I wrong?"

"No," Cas said. He sighed, and reached up to catch one of Dean's hands in his own. He kissed Dean's knuckles before fixing him with a solemn expression. "But I won't do this if you're unwilling."

Dean's chest tightened, and he couldn't tell if he felt relief or fear at Cas's words. Maybe a mixture of both, or neither. He'd never been good at feelings, especially when it came to this, his fatal flaw, his inherent _wrongness_. So he reacted like he always did, when his head started buzzing with too much noise and he had no way to decipher it all, let alone handle it.

"Does this seem unwilling to you?" Dean snapped, tugging out of Cas's grip so that he could start pulling off his own shirts. While he'd managed to sound angry, he couldn't deny just how hard his hands and voice were shaking, even now.

"Dean," Cas said, sounding alarmed. He brought his hands up, as if to stop Dean, but he never made actual contact. He seemed afraid to.

"What else do you need from me, Cas? What do you _want_?" Dean's voice cracked at that, more pleading than angry now, and he just couldn't keep going when he heard that in his own voice. He froze, staring at his hands, which were now curled around the hem of his t-shirt.

The silence spun out between them, and Dean was working on how best to gather his dignity and flee when Cas reached for him. He moved slowly, keeping his hands in view the entire time, as if Dean was a deer that he didn't want to scare any further. He brushed the back of his fingers against Dean's cheekbone, the touch feather-light, and Dean was closing his eyes and leaning into it before he could second guess the impulse.

"I want you," Cas said, voice soft, "to only offer what you're comfortable with."

Dean let out a soft huff of laughter and looked up at Cas. His argument of how he'd never acted uncomfortable about sex before all of this died on his lips when he saw Cas's expression. He looked far too serious for someone making a guess.

Cas _knew_.

It was suddenly all too much for Dean to handle. He jerked his head away from Cas's touch and knelt to gather his discarded shirts. He couldn't do this, not with Cas. And if this drove Cas away, well, fuck it. It would've happened sooner or later, if Cas knew as much as Dean thought he did. Might as well make it sooner and save Dean the pain.

Cas was saying something, but Dean didn't want to hear whatever judgment Cas was trying to send his way. He shook his head once and left the room, head bent and shoulders bowed with the weight of what he felt. Dean was hurting, a burning ache embedded deep in his chest, and there was only one way he knew how to fix that.

=

There wasn't much of an alcohol stash in the bunker--Sam didn't drink a lot, and Dean's had tapered off significantly, these last couple of years--but there was still enough to get Dean pretty trashed. Too bad he'd forgotten that getting drunk didn't do much for him if he already felt like shit when he was sober. And now, a few hours after the fallout, he felt ten times worse and just wanted to fix things so that this stupid ball of self-hate and hurt would just leave him alone. Which is why he was now seated across the hall from Cas's bedroom, waiting for Cas to show up so that they could talk.

Dean never said he had the best ideas when he was drunk.

It was a while--an hour? Five minutes? Dean couldn't really tell in his current state--before Cas emerged from his bedroom. He blinked down at Dean's slumped form, surprised, before moving to kneel in front of him.

"How long have you been out here?" Cas asked.

"Doesn't matter," Dean mumbled. "I want-- Wanted to talk t'ya."

Cas hesitated, but then he shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He was so close that his knees were pressing lightly against Dean's. "Go ahead."

Dean took a few minutes to collect his thoughts. He hadn't expected Cas to want to listen, and therefore had nothing planned beyond this moment. Feeling the pressure of the quiet between them, Dean settled on saying, "You know."

Cas tilted his head. "That you're asex--?"

"Yeah," Dean said, wincing. He didn't want to hear that word. Not right now. "Yeah, that."

"Dean," Cas said, dipping his head so that he could make eye contact. "I've known since I pulled you out of Hell."

Dean's heart lurched painfully, and he straightened out his back, shifting away from Cas as he did. "That's impossible," he said.

Cas watched him, face solemn. "I cradled the brilliance of your soul in my hands, Dean," he said. "It would impossible for me _not_ to know."

Dean couldn't breathe with this new information. He'd thought Cas had just recently figured it out, from the way Dean was acting about them being together. But Cas had known for _years_ , since the damn _beginning_ , and that wasn't something Dean could really fathom. He swiped a shaky hand over his mouth, trying to get it together.

"Dean?" Cas's hands were on his shoulders, his grip light but firm. "Dean, are you all right?"

"Why didn't you fix me?" Dean asked, words tumbling out of him without his permission. "When you pulled me outta Hell, when you saw…" he swallowed, his throat clicking drily. "Why didn't you _fix_ me, Cas?"

Cas didn't answer, and when Dean screwed up the courage to look at him, he saw that Cas's face had gone soft. Understanding and pain shone in his eyes, and when he gripped Dean's arm to help him stand, his touch was gentle.

"There was nothing _to_ fix," Cas said, with a sigh. He hooked Dean's arm around his shoulders and started to lead Dean down the hall. "You're whole as you are, Dean Winchester. You always have been."

Dean couldn't say anything to that. He stumbled along with Cas's guidance, blinking rapidly to clear his suddenly blurred vision. When he tumbled into his own bed, he was half-gone, the alcohol hitting him all at once. He tried to apologize, but his words were getting tangled up in his throat. Cas hushed him, a quiet, soothing sound as he moved to pull off Dean's boots and flick off the lights. Dean closed his eyes to the darkness, tired beyond reason and ready for the oblivion of sleep.

When Dean felt Cas brush a kiss against his forehead, he figured he was already dreaming.

=

It had been a while since Dean was hungover, so the next morning was a lot more uncomfortable than he was used to. He squinted through his headache, debating whether or not it was worth the extra pain to get out of bed. When he turned over to check the time, he found a glass of orange juice and bottle of water waiting for him. On a sticky note attached to the bottle was a note that read, in Cas's precise scrawl, _For the hangover._

"I didn't realize we even had orange juice," Dean muttered, reaching for the glass.

"We didn't."

Dean didn't jump, though his hand did tighten on the glass. Shoving himself into a sitting position, he saw that Cas was sitting in his desk chair, watching him.

"I found an orange tree during my morning run," Cas said. "Sam said that juice is good for headaches, so I took a few."

Dean grunted, giving the juice a try. It was sweet and pulpy, just like Dean preferred it to be. Before he knew it, he'd drained the glass, and his head felt a little better. He traded the empty glass for the water, and as he cracked it open he said, "Just so you know, when humans sit and watch other humans sleep, it's considered stalking."

Cas inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I didn't want you to disappear before we managed to talk."

And here Dean had been hoping that he could forget last night had happened at all. Sighing, he downed half the bottle of water before turning to fully face Cas. "Look," he said, "I made an ass of myself last night, and I'm sorry."

"You didn't--"

"And I know that you didn't sign up for that when we started this," Dean gestured vaguely, " _thing_ , between us. So if you wanted to bail, I'd understand."

"Dean." Cas shook his head, looking equally confused and pained. "I don't want to leave this relationship just because you don't want to sleep with me."

Dean let out a bark of laughter. Sometimes Cas's tendency for bluntness was both a blessing and a curse. "You say that now," he said. "But how will you feel in a few months? Or in a year?"

The look Cas gave him could be best translated as _Don't act like you're stupid, it insults us both_. "I told you that I've known since I pulled you out of Hell," Cas said. "If I have been comfortable with your sexuality ever since, then I doubt that'll change in the foreseeable future."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as he kept his eyes squarely locked with Dean's. "I want to be with you, for _you_ ," Cas said. "I don't want you just for sex. I love you, _all_ of you, as you are. What you've been willing to give me, these last few months, has been far more than enough to keep me happy."

Dean stared at Cas, at a loss for words. This was more than he ever expected, after yesterday. After losing Lisa, even. What were the odds of finding someone willing to put up with his shit not just once, but twice? It was way too good to be true.

"Okay," Dean said, licking his lips. "I just need to get this out of the way: you're not possessed?"

Cas's brow furrowed. "No. My anti-possession tattoos are still intact."

"And you're not a shifter?"

"Would I tell you if I were?"

Dean smiled. "Okay, fair enough."

"If you're trying to ascertain that I am actually me," Cas said, "then I can assure you that I am."

If Dean had any lingering doubts, that cleared them out immediately. "Good," he said. He sobered a little, clearing his throat before asking, "How badly did I fuck things up between us?"

Cas smiled a little. "You didn't."

"And you're still okay with… hanging around?" Dean wanted to cringe away from this entire conversation. Talking things out was way too awkward and difficult for him. "Even with all of my hangups?"

"I just told you that I love you," Cas said, giving Dean a pointed look. "Would I say that if I were planning on leaving?"

"No," Dean said. Looking down at his hands, he muttered, "And it's… yeah, just. Same here?"

Cas let out a soft huff of laughter. "I know."

Tension Dean wasn't even aware he had leached out of his shoulders. He looked up at Cas through his eyelashes, suddenly shy. "Can I, or, I mean, would you want… ?"

Luckily, Cas was still eerily good at reading Dean. He stood and circled the bed so that he could stand over Dean. When he reached out to lightly touch Dean's jaw, Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head obediently. He felt the warmth of Cas's body as he inched closer.

"Only if this is what you want," Cas said, a gentle reminder.

And Dean knew that, now, right down to his very soul. He may never be able to offer more than this, and yet Cas was okay with that. Cas accepted Dean, and respected what he wanted, and it settled Dean in a way he never expected. "It is," he said. "It really, really is."

The smile Cas pressed against Dean's mouth made it all worth it, and when he reached out to hold on to Cas, Dean felt at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was started during Asexuality Awareness Week, and while I did plan on posting it that same week, that... clearly didn't happen. Ah well.
> 
> I played this one pretty close to home, and because of that I'm a little nervous tossing this one out to the masses. But I want to help educate people about asexuality, and if I can best translate that through my writing, then that's what I'll do.
> 
> Giant thanks to Andrea, who came up with the title and coached me along. I never would've actually gotten this done without her.
> 
> Also, feel free to direct any and all questions you've got to me. Like I said, I love informing people and spreading the word, and am super happy to help anyone!


End file.
